Stephano DeLauria came alone to introduce himself, on a drab June day with low clouds and rain spitting just enough to be unpleasant. I was at my desk and Z was standing with his arms folded on the top of the file cabinet, his chin resting on his forearms. He turned his head slightly to look at Stephano as he came into the office.
Stephano glanced briefly at Z. I opened the top right-hand drawer of my desk.
“No need for access to a piece,” Stephano said. “I am not going to kill you today.”
“Promises, promises,” I said.
I left the drawer open.
“My name is Stephano DeLauria,” he said. “Do you know who I am?”
“I do,” I said.
Z hadn’t moved. With his chin on his forearms, he looked steadily at Stephano. But there was about him a sense of potential kinesis, as if a spring was being coiled. Hawk was the only other person I’d ever known who gave off quite that kind of energy. Except that Hawk’s spring was always coiled.
“Then you probably know why I’ve come to Boston,” Stephano said.
His voice was very deep and flat. But it made the kind of throbbing purr that powerful engines make.
“I probably do,” I said.
He smiled blankly, and we sat silently, looking at each other. His face was narrow. His features were sharp and prominent. His dark hair was combed straight back. He had a healthy outdoors look about him, as if he took long hikes.
“I have come to kill you,” he said.
“Hot damn,” I said.
He smiled again, a small, aimless smile, without meaning.
“It is my rule,” he said. “I give one warning. If you stop what you’re doing, I will go back to Los Angeles — disappointed, yes. But it is the way I do business.”
“What is it I’m doing?” I said.
“We both know,” Stephano said. “So does the Indian.”
“And if I don’t stop what we all know I’m doing?”
“It will give me pleasure,” Stephano said. “It will allow me to kill you.”
He looked at Z.
“Both of you,” he said.
“Might be smart while it’s two to one,” Z said, “for us to kill you right now.”
Stephano shook his head.
“I can kill you both now, if I must. Here, now, with your desk drawer open,” he said. “But then it would be over quickly, and... I enjoy the process.”
Z looked at me. I shook my head.
“So far it’s all talk,” I said. “Let’s see what develops.”
With his chin still on his forearms, and his gaze still fixed on Stephano, Z shrugged. Stephano stood.
“Down the road,” he said, and walked out of the office.